


Just An Old-Fashioned Good Time

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 666 Fics Fics Fics (Good Omens), Attempted Seduction, Competition, Foot Jobs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Situational Humiliation, turning the tables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 00:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: It’s the 1880s and Crowley has shown up at Aziraphale’s discreet gentlemen’s club looking to seduce him.  Too bad for him Aziraphale has decided to turn the tables in this little competition.





	Just An Old-Fashioned Good Time

**Author's Note:**

> 666 Fics Fics Fics Prompt: Quaint

“Wellll, fancy seeing you here,” Crowley held his tall top hat in one hand, stopping in front of Aziraphale, who sat reading a newspaper quietly at a small table by himself in his gentlemen’s club. Crowley was grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“I might have to find a new club,” groused Aziraphale. “The riff-raff they’re starting to let in here...”

“That hurts.” Crowley stalked around behind Aziraphale’s chair as if hunting prey. He leaned down, that sensuous mouth of his close to Aziraphale’s ear as he bent down to whisper something. “I came here to show you a good time.”

Wetness worked its way around the edge of his ear. So Crowley was in _that _kind of mood. 

“I don’t have time for your shenanigans,” Aziraphale said brusquely. “But if you do want to join me for lunch, they’re starting to serve it now.”

“That sounds good.” Crowley’s hand brushed along Aziraphale’s shoulders as he walked back around the table to the empty chair across from him. “We can have some fun afterwards. Don’t think I don’t know what goes on in the reading room here.”

He licked his lips. Aziraphale gave him a patient smile in return, all angelic radiance as food was placed before both of them.

“Up to no good, I take it?” he asked.

“Always am. Why do you bother to ask?”

“I don’t know. Just a conversation starter.” Under the table he slid off his shoes, one after the other.

“You’re lousy at conversation, angel.”

“Do tell.” Scrunching his toes, Aziraphale inched his foot up Crowley’s trouser legs. First one, then the other crawled up to the demon’s inner thighs.

“Up to something?” the demon quietly asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was the innocent reply as Aziraphale delicately took a bite of his lunch.

“Aziraphale, my trousers are gone.” Unfortunately for Crowley, he didn’t bother with anything under his trousers.

Aziraphale smiled sweetly. “I put up a little glamour, my dear. Nobody will notice a thing. Unless, of course, you’d rather I took the glamour off and just let the tablecloth hide you. So are you an exhibitionist?”

“Don’t care. It’s just I was jailed recently for sexual acts in public. Hell’s not happy with me... What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” Stockinged feet headed from inner thighs to something more sensitive. Toes gripped quite strongly.

Crowley stiffened in more than one way. Aziraphale could see him biting his lip, attempting to keep his body from reacting. Too late. The angel’s rival in this game felt his erection rise. Looking over his darkened glasses at Aziraphale, he refused to accept defeat. Instead he took a nonchalant bite of his entrée, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

“Any information I should know about? I have some things, but I’m not disclosing if you’re not going to put your cards on the table,” Crowley said breathlessly.

Up and down. Up and down. The socks had disappeared. A big toe circled the tip of his cock seductively, bringing with it feelings that made the demon want to cry out with desire. Aziraphale smiled in a self-congratulatory manner at Crowley’s pleasure and discomfort. One foot moved, brushing ever-so-gently against his balls while the other remained firmly on his member.

“No. Nothing beyond Raphael crossing America healing that pox Belial caused. I know how he _hates_ to be thwarted.” But it wasn’t Belial Aziraphale was talking about, they both knew it.

Dexterous toes stroked, circled and petted until Crowley could take no more. With a stifled groan, he clutched the sides of the table as he coated Aziraphale’s feet in wetness. Serpentine eyes registered lust and a bit of anger.

“You win this time,” he said in deadly soft tones. “But I _will _get you into my bed. I promise.”

The mess was wished away; trousers were restored. Humiliated at defeat, the demon excused himself as Aziraphale smiled triumphantly.

Sometimes, thwarting felt so _damn good._


End file.
